Beke is need of a spa day. Just saying.
It has been "one of those" kind of weeks. Is it me or do "one of those" kind of weeks happen more and more frequently. I have issues.
Instead of crying in my Diet Coke (which I'm really not supposed to be drinking) I thought I would share one of my "greatest hits."
My first few years of college I attended a small community college in the Mississippi Delta (the location of the college has nothing to do with my story, but I thought it necessary to blather on a bit more). On this particular day I had driven to the college for a class. I parked. Opened my door and stepped out of the car. Only to have my pants fall around my ankles. Exposing my supersized Granny Panties (a big apology to any of my uncles or other male relatives reading this post..TMI?) Yep. It happened. Remember when your momma told you to wear clean underwear? May I also suggest they be cute as well? You never know.
Anyhoo. Back to the story. I gasped. Dropped my book bag. Immediately looked at the busy traffic crossing in front of the college and at the crowded parking lot. Then it happened. I started laughing. And laughing. After I realized that I was not only embarrassing myself, but inflicting trauma upon passersby and the young impressionable college students (imagine a fluffy woman giggling in the parking lot with her britches pooling around her ankles), I quickly sat back down in my car. So here I was trying to pull my pants back up, discreetly.
At this point, I was giggling so hard I was practically hysterical. I bunched up my pants the best I could (the elastic had given way) and with the waist band of my pants in one hand and my bookbag in the other I walked towards the building. It was there that I spent the next 20 minutes searching every office and classroom and closet for something to hold my pants up. I would walk in an office (still snorting) and explain my dilemma. The professor/secretary/person in that office would declare disbelief and then begin snorting with me.
By the time I reached the end of the long hall word had spread of my Parking Lot Strip Tease. My Lit Professor and I finally concocted a paper clip sort of thing to hold my pants up. Occasionally I would pass someone and if I heard the giggle I knew that they knew. It's a good thing I have no shame. But I'm convinced that there is a whole generation of people in Eastern Arkansas who still tell stories around the dinner table of the lady who lost her pants in the parking lot.